


Crawl Through the Dark to Feel Your Heart Against Me

by Lady_Talla_Doe



Category: Battle Creek (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Emotional Trauma, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rough Kissing, boys not dealing with their trama, post-s1Ep10, russ can't really give it because of his mental state, sex isn't counciling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 10:21:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5704135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Talla_Doe/pseuds/Lady_Talla_Doe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Ep 10 (Stockholm) Russ says yes to that beer with Milt instead of 'No'.<br/>ALSO KNOWN AS<br/>the one where Russ needs to come with a health warning label, and Milt needs to stop touching emotionally traumatized people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crawl Through the Dark to Feel Your Heart Against Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Casey_Wolfe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casey_Wolfe/gifts).



> Technically speaking Russ isn't capable of consenting at this point, he's too jacked up on endorphins, painmeds, lack of sleep, and alcohol, But he also started it, sooo...  
> This is a afill for Caseywolfe's prompt on tumblr for 'bed sharing' which of course i took to the darkest place possible :'D love youuuu

 

***

* * *

* * *

 

“What I’m trying to say, is, maybe we can get a beer?” Milt was looking at him with those stupid eyes of his, all open and hopeful and Russ just didn’t have it in him to say no. _Think_ it, yes, but open his mouth and crush that hope…

He found himself nodding slowly. “Yeah, alright. Maybe just one.”

Milt lit up. Something in Russ’ chest shifted, uneasy at the simple pleasure the agent seemed to get just from his company. Russ wasn’t _pleasant,_ he wasn’t _nice_. There wasn’t any reason to be happy or smiley about being stuck with him for another half an hour. Uneasy, he trailed after Milt.

***

The bar wasn’t very crowded, and they picked a table, not a booth. Both nursed a single drink, although once Milt got seated, his ‘beer’ morphed into a whiskey, neat. Russ understood the urge, but peering down at the partially shredded label between his finger tips, he was content with his choice. You couldn’t peel a whiskey glass, and his nerves were still chittering, humming softly that he was in _danger, danger, danger_. He could feel his shoulders sag as exhaustion hit, rolling over him in a fog, and suddenly he was glad Milt was here, glad for his over-exuberant smiles, and his stupid touchiness, and his silence.

Milt, who was looking at him from across the table, draped in his chair like it wasn’t wood, and the last few days hadn’t been hell. His face was that strange, open concerned look he’d had all day. Like Russ wasn’t doing what he should be, or- or was doing something _weird._ Suddenly, he had the urge to pat his face, make sure he hadn’t been doing something like crying without noticing. Instead, he rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand, the scratched his check, and nothing would make him admit the relief that it came away dry.

“Milt, I’m going to ask you something, but you’ve got to stop promise me something.” Russ glanced away, twisting the bottle between his fingers, and for a moment the bruises on his wrists peeked out from under his cuffs. Milt’s eyes followed the motion, his face tightening at the tight, then lightening as Russ glanced at up.

“Of course. Anything, just ask.”

“I don’t want to be alone. Not tonight… it just, kind of hit, and I don’t want-I mean, I’m not trying to be weird, but can I-“ he pushed the words out in a rush, suddenly conscious of what he was asking, _who_ he was asking, and regretting it, wishing desperately he could claw them back. Russ dropped his chin, flush crawling up his throat, and his fingers pulled the last of the label off his beer. Carefully, he placed it on the scratched tabletop, avoid Milt’s eyes.

“Nevermind, forget I asked. It’s getting late, I should go.” His face felt hot, and he could blame the alcohol and pain meds mixing for his blurting everything and standing quickly, grabbing his coat off the chair beside him. Russ was out of his seat and heading towards the door when Milt caught him, his grip firm on his arm.

“Russ wait.” Milt’s voice was soft, sliding under the noise of the room, and right under Russ’ skin- and alcohol must be against the rules of his painkillers, because he felt odd. Hot and cold, and nervous. Like Milt had caught him out somehow, but Russ wasn’t even sure what secret he’d shown. Milt’s breath washed over his shoulder, down the side of his neck, and against all reason Russ shivered.

“You said You didn’t want to be alone. After the week you’ve had, you shouldn’t be- stay with me, tonight. Tomorrow you can find someone else if you want, but don’t be alone tonight.” He paused, then the heat of Federal Agent Milt Chamberlin stepped closer, right up against his back. Milt slid his hand down Russ’ arm until he held his wrist- carefully, mindful of the dark ring of bruises- “Russ, don’t be alone tonight.”

They seemed to be caught in some weird moment, some place where Milt could be soft and Russ could be vulnerable, and it was _okay_ , and numbly Russ nodded. Milt gathered his forgotten jacket from their table, and that was it. Russ was steered back towards Milt’s care, to go sleep in Milt’s house.

***

The drive was silent. Although it did give Russ time to think, and Milt put on music. What did he think he was saving him from? Crying himself to sleep? Or watching all of _I Love Lucy_ and then eating his own gun? He snorted softly, and Milt glanced at him- Russ jerking his chin at the road, and said softly, “watch _it,_ ” and if it had too much emphasis that he wasn’t analyzing, it also wasn’t wrong.

The drive was short, but they’d done this before. Park, get out, go to Milt’s. They fell into autopilot, moving quietly into the building until the door swept shut behind them, and left them both standing awkwardly in the dim light of the foyer. Milt watched Russ.

“I have things for you to sleep in.”

“lemmie guess, grey and has ‘FBI’ on it?”

A soft laugh, “Yes. You know where everything is. Make yourself at home.”

Russ waved him off, then wandered towards the living room, slumping down into the soft hug of the couch. That bonecrushing exhaustion was back, and it pulled at his eyes, itched at his lungs, at the back of his throat. The emotional toll of the day was working its way towards him, ready to pounce the moment he let his guard down, by the way his chest seemed a little tight, and he couldn’t quite get rid of his frown.

He didn’t see himself crying out his soul at Milt’s. There were worse people, but _still,_ it was _Milt_.

Just was the first whispers of panic started to creep through, that seeping sense of loneliness that was the emotional shock of any catastrophe- a warm hand smoothed over his shoulder, needing carefully, and again, Milt’s heat washed into him, sinking into the places the lonely-scared-bitter-shocky ice had gotten to. His breath was a tide against Russ’ hair, a sign Milt was leaning over him, checking on him, before he spoke.

“You okay there, Russ?”

“… Just tired.”

“….Okay.” _I don’t believe you for a second._ His silence said.

Russ snorted, lips tugging into a reluctant smile. Folded clothes dropped into his lap.

“Get changed. You know where the bedroom is. There’s only one bed, but it’s big enough to share. I’m sorry, but I don’t have any spare blankets. I honestly never thought I’d have guests.”

Russ nodded, and Milt patted him once on the shoulder. Russ waited, hearing him walk across the apartment, then the door close. Bruised hands unfolded the clothes carefully. Short sleeve T – _white, heh, fucking cute chamberlain_ \- and grey sweats, warn in an likely a bit long. At least the shirt would be comfortable if it was large, but the pants would be a pain.

With a sight, he stood the shuffle to the bathroom to change.

***

When he pushed the door open to the bedroom, Milt was already in bed, reading by a small lamp set above the headboard. The bed itself was one of those stupidly high king size, those ones that made you feel like you needed stairs. Whatever Milt’s personal taste were, the apartment its self seemed to be done in mostly monochrome, and the bed was no exception – white comforter, black sheets, black and white pillows- some on the bed, some tossed to the floor. At least it had a floor board. Russ hated when the comforter slid off the end and trapped his feet. Silently, he slid into bed, shifting the pillows around – two more were tossed off onto the floor – “Seriously man, how do you sleep like this?”- and finally he was settled, a Milt sized heat at his side. He didn’t have time to dwell on it, being in a bed with Milt, the strangeness of the evening, none of it- the moment he was comfortable, sleep sucked him under.

***

He woke in the middle of the night, with that strange fucking clarity of midnight people. Shoving himself up on an elbow, Russ shifted so he could look down at Milt, just barely roused by Russ’ shifting about.

“I’m not drunk. Or crazed. Or distraught. Or whatever stupid reason you might come up with after to try and explain it away,” He said, leaning over him. Milt’s brow creased, mouthing the words ‘it?” but Russ was leaning down, fist braced on the mattress. He pressed his lips carefully to Milt’s, closed and chased, then when he parted his mouth in surprise Russ was on him, slanting his mouth firmly over Milt’s, teeth grazing his bottom lip. Hands caught his shoulders – but not to pull him away, no, Milt yanked Russ closed, until he was sprawled on top of him- then rolled them, tucking Russ’ smaller form underneath his taller body.

It became _Milt’s_ kiss. Deeper, hungrier. Milt’s weight pushed Russ deeper into the mattress, his heat burning him through both their clothes, and as Russ slid his hand down Agent Milton Chamberlain’s shoulders to slide his t-shirt up, he ignored all the instincts saying that he should stop before he ruined his relationship (what relationship, we hate each other _clearly not, he’s sucking a bruise into your throat)_

“Please don’t stop, Milt,” Russ whispered, voice shattered and desperate. Maybe this was just another form of crying alone in the dark. Of eating his gun. “Please, please, Milt, please, fuck don’t stop,” The dark hair at this throat tickled as it lifted, and those dark eyes were as focused as they'd been all day as Milt stared down at him in the dark bedroom. 

"I won't, just tell me what you need. Russ, speak to me," a thumb brushed down his cheekbone, rasped over his unshaved shadow, and Russ turned his face into Milt's touch. Now that he had, there was a mad desperation not to be without it.

"I don't know. Just. Anything. Everything. Just don't leave me alone."


End file.
